Dying Hearts
by Nova-Janna
Summary: From the point of view of each of the parents about their lives, their children, and how they feel about their children being in detention. Continued from two shot.
1. Fathers

_**Disclaimer: If TBC was mine, there would have been more of it.**_

_**A/N: Kirsten's one-shot idea: something about the parents and how they feel about their kids being in detention. This is a two-shot – first the fathers, then the mothers. Please review.**_

**Jonathon Reynolds sat at home with a mug of green tea in his hands.** He sighed as he gazed around the pristine kitchen. He'd dropped Allison off at the school that morning for a detention that she'd only just told them about at breakfast, and he'd been angry just because she hadn't told them. And then in the car, when he was trying to ask about how she was doing and why she'd gotten this detention, she hadn't said a word. Not a single word. Nothing like 'I'd rather not talk about it' or 'Can we talk about this later' just, nothing. He'd been so angry he'd nearly run into another student, and then had simply sped off without saying a word to her.

He took a long sip of tea. He knew he had problems with anger management. He always had, and it had been something that had plagued him his whole life. There had been times when he'd thought it was going to get him into serious trouble, and he'd tried to do something about it. Take a class, get counseling, but it never seemed to work. When Allison had been born…Well, she'd been a bit of a surprise, really, but he'd loved her with all of his heart. But he'd been worried too, so worried. He'd never been good with children, and his anger issues hadn't just disappeared over time, and he was worried that he'd hit her or perhaps something worse.

Over time, he'd found ways to control the anger because he had a daughter and he didn't want to do anything he'd regret. Margaret had always told him that will power could do things that counseling and classes couldn't, and over the course of Allison's life he'd found that was true. Still, Allison was now a teenager, and he was finding it harder and harder to control that anger, especially when she just wouldn't talk. Her silence was the worst form of rebellion to him, worse than any drugs or bad boyfriends could have been.

There was a part of him that blamed himself for her behaviour, but the other part of him blamed Margaret. She'd always been so hard on Allison, and now that Allison was a teenager she was even worse. While Allison's silence made him angry, it merely served to make Margaret passive. She'd almost completely given up on her daughter. When Allison had first become reclusive, around junior high, Margaret had stopped trying completely. It wasn't fair to her, and she knew it, but she just couldn't stand getting angry like he did.

"I can't try with her, Jonathon. I can't put myself through that pain and suffering," she'd told him when Allison had spent a week without saying a single word to them.

He'd responded by telling her that Allison was their daughter, and that it was their job to put themselves through the pain and suffering. He often felt that when Margaret had given up, Allison had as well. It was as if 'that faze' she'd been going through would have ended if Margaret had just made a little effort, but she hadn't and so Allison had let the faze extend to such a point that it completely overwhelmed her.

He sighed again, and finished the rest of his tea in silence.

**Matthew Standish stood at his desk in his corner office with a blank expression on his face.** He'd dropped his daughter off earlier that morning for detention, and now he was back to working over time. He sat heavily down in his chair and gazed at the single photo he had in his office. It was a picture of Claire at her thirteenth birthday party. Thirteen. That was when, as far as Matthew could tell, all the trouble had started. That was when his little girl had decided to grow up, and when all the problems with Michelle had started as well.

He wasn't sure if the two were connected, not even now, looking back on the past few years. He and Michelle had watched Claire grow up and then suddenly it was as if she'd made a huge leap and she was so much closer to being grown up. They'd wanted different things, he and Michelle, from the very start. They'd wanted different things for their children, for their lives, and as time passed it became harder and harder to find compromises.

With Claire's brother it had been easier. They'd been such eager parents, so willing to change themselves and bits and pieces of their lives for their son, and by the time he was seven, when Claire was born, he was already on his way to growing up and becoming a fine young man. And he was. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted Claire. Michelle had always wanted a baby girl and Matthew had always thought that two was a perfectly reasonable number of children.

Christopher had been out of the house by the time the trouble started, and so he'd grown up and moved out without a hitch. And then Claire…Claire was difficult. Claire was spoilt and Matthew knew it, just as well as he knew that she'd become a tool for he and Michelle to use against each other; a weapon of a never-ending war. He knew it wasn't fair to his daughter, and he knew it was equally as unfair to continue justifying his actions by buying her what she wanted and letting her do what she wanted.

It was going to get to a point where he and Michelle were going to have to sit down and have a talk, discuss each other, themselves, but especially Claire, and how they were going to handle her. The teenage years were the toughest ones – that's what all their friends said and that's how it had been with Christopher as well.

Matthew gazed at the neatly framed picture on his equally neat desk. Sometimes he worried that he was being too strict on Claire. Maybe it was because he knew that, if he opened up to her and became a father to her he would stop being able to use her against Michelle. And if he was unable to use his one true weapon, everything could fall apart. Matthew felt the pinpricks of tears at his eyes, gazing at the smiling face of his daughter. It wasn't the best situation for Michelle, Claire, or himself, but it was the only one the three of them knew how to handle, and he wasn't sure he could change it all on his own.

He didn't think he knew how to anyways.

**Jerry Johnson stood still in the cereals aisle, staring straight ahead with his arms hanging listlessly over his shopping cart.** His wife was at least an aisle ahead of him, and would eventually realize and come back to find him, and then she'd be even angrier than she already was. Saturday shopping trips had seemed like a good idea at the beginning of their marriage, but now, almost twenty years later, they were just getting to be monotonous. He actually wished that one weekend they wouldn't be able to make it, and he'd have to run out in the middle of the week to pick up every little they needed on Monday and then Wednesday morning, when they ran out of milk. It didn't seem likely that it would ever happen, though, since not even their son's almost suicide attempt and the subsequent detention could stop Diane.

Jerry slowly began moving forward. He loved Diane, he really did, but sometimes he just wanted her to slow down, to stop moving, to stop being so angry or sad or enthusiastic, or whatever it was she was doing to an extreme. Nowadays her focus was on Brian, their son and eldest child, trying to get him to be the best he could be. Jerry wondered what Brian wanted. Jerry wondered if Brian could even differentiate between what he wanted and what his mother wanted anymore.

Jerry had been a brilliant football player when he'd been in high school, and he couldn't say that he didn't wish Brian was like that. No, that wasn't true. He couldn't say that he hadn't _wished, _past tense, that Brian had turned out that way. He figured Brian as a football would have been easier to handle, because he'd have understood him a lot better and then maybe Diane wouldn't have turned him into this awful geeky kid.

It wasn't that Jerry had a problem with Brian being smart. Not at all. In fact, he valued it highly because it had never been something he'd excelled at, and Brian was a brilliant child. But he knew he couldn't be easy on him, in high school, always so worried about grades and, well fuck, he was in the physics club, of all clubs. If Diane let up just a little, Brian's life would be easier, he was pretty sure. Jerry remembered when he'd been in high school, remembered vividly how kids could treat each other, sometimes even without realizing the extent of the damage they were causing, but it was as if Diane had forgotten.

When they'd been in high school together, sweethearts, seriously thinking about their future, they'd promised that they would understand their teenage children, when the time came, but somehow Diane had forgotten that completely and here they were, with a son in detention because a gun had gone off in his locker. Diane was furious about it; about the gun, about Brian's lack of an explanation, about Brian's mark in shop, and about the detention. Frankly, Jerry couldn't have cared less about Brian's marks or his detention. He was worried about the need for a gun and the why? Question that had never been answered.

He'd talk to Brian later, he decided, and try to figure out how his son was doing. Try to talk to him like he needed to be talked to, without trying to be a parent or a buddy, really, but just kind of talking. Maybe that would work. Jerry looked up and saw Diane rounding the corner and walking down the aisle towards him. Lifting himself, he began moving forwards.

**Roy Clark was not a particularly caring man, and he knew it**. He'd never seen reason to go easy on Andy, and Andy didn't need anyone going easy on him anyways. Roy had been driving around for what seemed like hours after dropping his son off at the school for detention, and he still couldn't wrap his mind around why Andy would do something so stupid. It wasn't that he had a problem with offense itself. He remembered what it was like to be a kid, he remembered what the feel of power was, and why you'd want to keep it. But, like he'd said, you can't get caught.

Andy had been promising from the very start, and now he was almost as good as he could be. He still wasn't there. He could be so much better, could have improved so much more, but it was as if his heart wasn't really in it, ever. Peggy had told him time and time again that he was going to hard on his son, but he knew what the sport world was like, and Peggy didn't. He knew that what was necessary and what wasn't, and what was necessary was constant training, constant striving to be better. What wasn't necessary was coddling mothers.

He loved Peggy, but sometimes she just didn't understand about the father-son relationship. He'd told her that often enough, but she always shook her head and sighed and acted as if he was so naïve. Andy was going to go pro, Andy was going to do something big with the talent he had, and that was more important than anything. This detention was a slip-up, this detention was a minor setback, but any situation could be remedied with the right medicine. With Andy it would be a father-son talk about where he wanted his life to go, and where it would be heading if he kept getting caught.

Roy let his mind drift back to his wife. Peggy was a wonderful wife, if a coddling mother. When they'd met Roy had been about to make it big on the wrestling scene, and they'd gone through that stage of his life together. She knew how important this was to him, how important it was now to Andy. So he couldn't understand why her support was faltering. After all these years, and suddenly she was worried about Andy, about whether or not it was the right thing.

Roy hadn't let their relationship suffer from it, anyways, not much. They avoided the topic of their son for the most part, focusing on mundane day-to-day things and memories in their conversations. Sometimes, though, when Roy accidentally woke her up in the mornings when he and Andy were leaving for extra training, she looked like she wanted him to stay and not go to training. Just to take a break.

He couldn't take a break, of course, because it took months to get into the habit of training but only a few days to break it. He knew from experience. With his first son, Sam, he'd tried to harness the talent he'd had, but in the end Sam had first broken his training habits, then lost his love of the sport altogether. Roy wasn't going to take that chance with Andy. Roy was going to make him work hard, and then harder, and then he'd achieve his goals. Roy drove back to his house, intent on developing a new training schedule for the next month.

**Ed Bender sat in front of the TV with a beer in hand.** Despite Dorothy's pleading with him to not drink before noon, he'd needed one. The boy had woken him up early that morning, yelled something about a detention and slammed the door. Fucking bastard, that's what his son was. John was in detention again, which had Dorothy all distraught, but what the fuck did it matter anyways? The boy had been trouble from the very start, even when Ed had been trying to make an effort with him.

And he had, once, when he was still young and hopeful and John was just a kid to be moulded into whatever person he and Dorothy could make him into. That was back in the days when Dorothy was prettier, too, when she cared about her appearance. It had all gone to shit, that's what had happened. Dorothy had stopped caring about her appearance and making Ed happy in favour of her son, and so Ed had stopped caring about her and what she cared about, which was John.

That would have been about the age of eleven, maybe twelve, when John started getting and attitude and picking fights at school, and Ed had tried to talk to him, tried to tell him that he didn't want to be like his old man. Gradually John stopped fighting just because and started fighting and talking back 'cause he was pissed at Ed. Ed knew it. Ed knew he should have been a better father, but he'd tried and then he'd lost and sometimes that's how life was. John knew that by now. John knew why his father had stopped trying, Ed reasoned, because John was becoming just like him.

What a laugh, Ed thought. You try hard to make them different, make them amount to something, but in the end you can't change a thing. Genes are what they are. Kids grow up to be just like their mummies or daddies and fuck it all if they don't want to be. Fuck it if they think they can have something better – they can't.


	2. Mothers

**Margaret Reynolds had never been a quitter. **She'd been talented academically and athletically in school, and a very popular person. But somehow, when Allison had started being difficult, she just couldn't be bothered to try. It was silly, really, because she really hadn't ever been a quitter, and at the first sign of trouble from Allison she'd given up. It wasn't that she didn't love her daughter, it was just that she didn't like her.

It was a ridiculous feeling. She loved Allison with all of her heart because she was her daughter, and a person that was part of both her and Jonathon, but she didn't like her. She didn't like her own daughter enough to care enough about her to help her through her teenage years, and though Margaret knew that was wrong, she couldn't help herself. Margaret almost wished that Allison had died as a small child, before Jonathon had a chance to love her. Because Jonathon loved her both because she was his flesh and blood and because of the person she had become.

What Margaret didn't understand was how he could love her when she was so without a personality. Allison said little to them, sometimes even going weeks on end without saying a word, and she often ignored them completely. In turn, Margaret ignored her, but it only served to let Jonathon love her more just for being her.

"How can you love someone who isn't anything?" Margaret had screamed at him through hysterical tears one day, after a particularly long bout of silence from their daughter.

"She is something," Jonathon had responded fiercely, looking as if he was resisting the urge to slap her. "I can see it in her eyes and the pictures she leaves around the house. She's trying to get you to see her, Margaret, really see her, but you won't even look."

Margaret knew that she was a bad mother. She knew that you could be a heroin addict or be the neighbourhood whore and it wouldn't hurt your children as much as just giving up did. But there was no point, she reasoned, trying now. There was no point in attempting to make a connection for the next three years, because they would just be getting to know each other again when Allison would leave. And she would leave, without a doubt, no matter how things turned out between them.

Margaret was a woman of memories. She had lived her life to its fullest until such a time when she felt she was ready to settle down, and then she had done so. She and Jonathon had made the conscious decision to have a child, but only one, and not spoil that only child. And while Allison had been growing up Margaret had been trying to mould her, subtly, but at the same time Jonathon was doing the same. By the time Allison began her silent faze Margaret had given up moulding and had decided to just give up. She didn't like Allison and there wasn't a lot she could do to change that, and somehow she thought that Jonathon would feel the same, just because she did. And then he didn't, and it had all deteriorated from there.

Margaret ignored her daughter completely, no matter whether Allison was in a silent faze or looked like she might be ready to say something of relevance to them. Jonathon went through long periods of time where he would just be furious, with both Margaret and Allison, and would be just as quiet as his daughter. It was times like those when she retreated into her own little word, trying to break the silence by singing too-cheery songs or playing at the piano, but not willing to break it by trying to connect, heaven forbid.

Margaret padded down the stairs and crossed the living room to her piano, elegantly nestled in a corner. On the keys was an inked drawing. At first Margaret was taken aback, but she remembered Jonathon's words and tried to see the picture. It was a detailed sketch of Margaret sitting at the piano, playing, and looking blissfully serene.

**Michelle Standish stood by the doorway to her bedroom in her favourite robe. **Her husband was at work and her daughter was in detention for something silly, and she was staring at the man who she'd been sleeping with and trying not to cry. He was a wonderful man, single, and a doctor. He was young enough to be a match for Claire, really, once she got out of high school, but currently he was just another weapon.

Matthew probably knew, she reflected, gazing at the blissfully unaware doctor. Matthew was an intelligent human being, and if he hadn't already worked it out, he would. Claire didn't know, but Michelle was going to let Claire catch them sometime soon, see what it did to the house, see how Claire handled it.

It wasn't that Michelle was a particularly vicious human being. It was more that, when she'd started this life with Matthew she'd been so ready for at least a close-to-perfect life. But now, fifteen years later, she found herself grasping at straws. She was bored, for one thing. She'd had her first child, a son, and he'd been a beautiful little boy who had turned into a dashing young man, and when Claire had become a teenager she was bored of the art of raising a child.

She loved her daughter dearly, and she had always wanted a daughter, but it was as if, once she'd mastered that art, she'd wanted something new, something different. And she found ways of doing that, only it was an inconvenience to her daughter and to her husband.

She realized that this constituted being a bad mother, but she felt that a lot of the blame fell on Matthew. Their marriage was rocky, and it had been ever since Christopher had left the house, and Claire had merely become a means of getting back at one another. First Michelle would tell Claire that she wasn't allowed to go to a party, and then Matthew, who was more intent on going against Michelle's word than actually spoiling his daughter, would tell her that she could go.

Michelle was getting fed up with that little game. Here, she thought, looking at the handsome young man in her husband's place, here is a new game. Here is something he isn't ready for. She silently slipped off the robe and slipped back into bed, staring at the ceiling. A long time ago she had promised herself she would be the best that she could be. She had promised she would be a good wife, a good mother, and a good person.

Now she was finding that she was a good adulteress, a good manipulator, and a despicable human being. And she wasn't sure she liked it at all.

**Diane Johnson knew her husband didn't approve of the way she was raising their son. **In fact, Diane knew that her husband didn't approve of much she did anymore. She was raising Brian so he was everything his father wasn't, and she was fairly certain Jerry didn't like that. She also knew that, despite his pride in his son's intelligence, Jerry disliked the kind of person Brian was becoming. _He's too much like me_, she thought, smiling sadly to herself. She'd made her son into someone who she wanted him to be, and Jerry didn't like it.

Her marriage to Jerry wasn't failing, but they disagreed constantly on what to do about Brian. Diane would be the first to admit that Jerry understood him better, partly because he had been a boy where Diane had only ever looked at boys, and partly because there was a part of Jerry that would always be a teenage jock in high school. Diane didn't feel that there was any part of her teenage self left, and because of that she often wondered how they had stayed together for so long.

She knew that Jerry thought she pushed Brian too hard, but there was a level of excellence that needed to be achieved. She realized that she was pushy and overbearing, and that Brian sometimes needed a break, like in the case of this flare gun incident. She'd been so upset that he'd even gotten a detention, so upset that he'd failed shop, whereas Jerry was worried about why Brian wanted to kill himself. Diane was worried about it too. She was, and she used her anger about the grade and the detention as a diversion, as if she didn't care that her teenage son was thinking about suicide. It wasn't as if it would have been such a bad thing if she had shown she cared, but showing that would mean admitting to herself that this was all her fault.

And it was. Entirely. She pushed him too hard, wanted him to be too much like her, wanted him to be perfect, and no one was perfect. Jerry tried to talk to Brian, to understand, but she couldn't do that, oh no. She was so focused on that unrealistic image of the perfect son to worry what it might to do her son to try to be that way for her. Jerry kept telling her that Brian had had her views drilled into him for so long he couldn't differentiate between them, and Diane denied it because she knew it was true.

She couldn't do anything but deny it, because as soon as she stopped doing that she'd be realizing her faults. And that would be so silly, so ironic, to have someone so intent on perfection with so many faults. Her husband knew it but didn't draw attention to it, and Brian was so caught up in that perfect image, without really even knowing it, to take a closer look at his mother and realize.

Diane knew what Jerry thought. Diane knew that she should change, that she could change, but she kept going. She kept being angry about the marks and the detention and avoiding the topic of the gun and moving, moving, moving, all the time, because if she stopped then Brian would have time to look at her, and once he did that…Diane sat in her car and cried because she couldn't be who she knew she should be.

**Peggy Clark stared listlessly out her thrice-cleaned front window. **When Peggy was worried or upset she cleaned. Roy had picked up on it and commented once or twice, but he'd never really understood her enough to realize why she was upset. It was silly of her, really, to marry someone who saw so little. He saw himself and he saw his ideal version of Andy, he saw Peggy as someone who he loved, though he couldn't have said why. He didn't see Sam at all anymore, both in the figurative and literal sense. Sam sometimes called, which made Peggy happy and Andy perk up just a little, if only because he could talk to Sam about Roy, but Roy was always conveniently "just on his way" to get something from somewhere where he wouldn't have to be in the house.

Peggy was upset that her son was so unhappy, but she was also upset because Andy was in detention for bullying. For beating another student, for humiliating him. That wasn't right. She'd had a long talk with Andy, and she felt that he understood why she was upset, but she couldn't tell whether or not he was sorry or even why he'd done it. Roy seemed to think that it was as simple as Andy wanting power and Andy getting power through the only means available in high school, but Peggy wasn't so sure. She didn't think that her son was that heartless and shallow. She didn't think that her son was as heartless and shallow as her husband had become.

There had been a time when he'd been a wonderful husband, but then his attempts at making Sam just like him had failed, and Peggy had become simply someone who was often in the way when he attempted to train Andy. He was so set on modeling Andy as a younger, more adept version of himself that he'd pretty much forgotten everything else. Peggy didn't even know if her husband was happy. She knew that he wasn't unhappy, because his ultimate goal was to make Andy as good a wrestler as he could be, but she didn't know whether he was actually happy. She wasn't even sure that Roy knew if he was happy or not anymore.

She wasn't. She'd known since Andy had started to have that look on his face, that weary, exhausted look, all the time. Andy meant the world to her, and so did Sam. She loved her children with every ounce of her being, especially because so little of her truly loved Roy anymore. Andy wasn't supposed to be exhausted, he wasn't supposed to be down-trodden. He was a teenager. He was meant to be carefree and happy, able to break a leg from something silly without it ruining his chances in the future.

He should have been able to sleep in as well, Peggy thought stubbornly as she polished the dining room table. He was a teenager. They slept late, and then had to be woken up by their mothers at all hours of the morning, not making coffee for their mothers after they got back from running laps at the field down the street.

Peggy wanted for Andy what she felt was the ideal teenage lifestyle, not because she'd really had it –she'd always been an early riser – but because she knew that it would make him happier than he was now. She heard the car pull into the driveway and continued polishing, wondering if Roy would take the hint. As he walked into the room, one look was all it took for Peggy to know that he wouldn't.

**Dorothy Bender was a small woman with a big heart and a quiet beauty. **She had never thought she was pretty and she didn't think she ever would, but there had been a time when she'd gotten constant reassurance from her husband that she was beautiful, and she'd felt it then, even if she didn't think it. Now all she heard from her husband were orders for another beer or a sandwich and complaints. The only time she felt special anymore was when her son told her loved her.

It had surprised her, the first time he'd said it. He'd just come home from school and Ed was passed out in front of the television. Dorothy had red eyes, one puffy from crying and the other puffy from crying and a whack about the head. John had walked in the door, looked at her carefully and then at his father, and pulled her into a hug. Then he'd told he loved her and walked off. It had surprised her because her son had been playing the part of a tough guy since he was old enough to talk back, and the kind words and the entirely appropriate moment had made her remember why she continued living like she did.

She was worried that he was in detention again, but she'd given up trying to keep him out of detention a long time ago, and just tried to do the best she could in the circumstances. John was a good boy, and no matter how bad he was he was devoted. He devoted himself to loving the things he truly loved, but when he hated someone…Dorothy, despite her husband and her son's reputation, was always shocked when Bender talked to his father. She was disbelieving that the same mouth that told her John loved could be filled with so much venom and hate.

She was often worried about Bender, about how he was going to end up, and whether he'd get stuck in a life like this one. She wanted nothing more than for him to make something of himself, show someone else the good in him and get himself away from this dismal life.

Ed stirred on his chair, and Dorothy peered into the TV room. There had been a time when she'd loved Ed, but he hadn't been able to accept that they had a son who Dorothy loved just as much. Slowly, Ed had stopped having anything to do with John and she'd stopped having anything to do with Ed. Somehow it had deteriorated down to a point where John's life didn't seem to be heading anywhere, Ed's had come to a stop, and Dorothy didn't feel like she had one at all.

**A/N: So this was meant to be a two-shot but I'm considering continuing writing it, and sort of doing a Monday fic but from the parent's point of view. Does anyone think I should continue? And am I painting a relatively realistic picture of what the Breakfast Clubber's parents could be like? **


	3. Saturday Evening

**A/N: OK, so this is going to be longer than your average author's note, but I'd appreciate it if you'd read it all the same. I have some things to explain about the last chapter, about John's mother. The first is an apology for slipping up and having her call him 'Bender' – silly of me, and I apologize for it. I did edit, but I'm just so used to him being Bender that I missed it. **

**The second is to explain why Bender's mother is not how he describes her in the movie. ("You forgot ugly, lazy and disrespectful.") I was running with the idea that, while Bender's father is a complete jackass, he does have someone who loves him. However, picture the idea that he explains how crappy his home life is, and then says "But my mother loves me". Sort of takes away from his whole image, don't you think? So I was using that wonderful thing called a (fanfiction) writer's prerogative and making sure Bender was loved by someone other than his fans. **

**OK, so sorry that was so long, I just wanted to make sure you understood my reasoning. Also, a quick note about the format: I alternate between perspectives, not just stick to fathers and then mothers like I did for the first two chapters, so please tell me if that's too confusing. **

**Right, I'm done. Please wake up and actually read and review the third chapter.**

When Peggy returned home from shopping on Saturday evening she found Andy seated at the kitchen table, blatantly ignoring his father. Roy was seated in front of the TV, watching a game, and Peggy just knew that he's asked Andy to join him. At the same time, she knew Andy had refused, but she didn't know why. She didn't know how Roy would take it either, because she'd never been in that situation with her family before, and she wasn't sure how to act. She figured, just to be on the safe side, she'd avoid Roy.

She set her shopping bags down on the kitchen table, carefully eyed Andy, and then began unloading the groceries. Two seconds later, Andy was up and helping her, a wide grin on his face.

"Wasn't there a party you wanted to go to tonight?" Peggy asked her question tentatively, because this was her teenage son and she'd pretty much forgotten how to interact with teenage boys.

"Yeah. Stubbie's," Andy replied, still grinning, as he took the cans from her hands and put them on the highest shelf.

"Thank you," she said softly, and stared at him for a few moments. She glanced at her watch. "Shouldn't you be leaving, then, if the party is tonight?"

Andy shrugged indifferently. "Not going."

"Andrew Clark, you have just spent a day in detention, you've refused to watch a football game with your father, you're not going to one of those parties, and you have the biggest grin on your face that I've seen since you were five. Now _what_ is going on?" Peggy's voice was indignant, but it was a playful indignation. Truth be told, it didn't really matter either way why Andy was happy, but Peggy's curiosity was getting the better of her. Andy grinned even wider, though Peggy hadn't thought it possible, and she understood at once. "Oh my…It's a girl, isn't it?"

Andy laughed. "It's a girl, yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Peggy laughed as well. "Well I'll be. You've finally gotten yourself a girlfriend."

Andy shook his head at her. "She's not really a girlfriend…And besides, I've had girlfriends, Mom."

"Yes, but none of them have made you smile like this." She reached over and tussled his hair, and he let her. Peggy laughed and pulled the cereal boxes out of the bag. Who would have thought that detention could bring about something good? Peggy gave herself a moment to feel for the mother of the boy who Andy had hurt, and then looked over at Andy. If that mother's pain was what it took for Andy to start again, then she was willing to let that woman hurt.

**Michelle decided not to let Claire catch them. **Michelle decided that she might actually talk to her daughter, figure out what went on in her life. She may have mastered the art of parenting, but it had been a long while since she'd exercised her gift.

As soon as Michelle knocked on Claire's door, she knew Claire was guarded. "Come in," Claire called, voice tentative and confident all at once.

"Hello," Michelle said with a smile, crossing the room and sitting next to her daughter on the bed.

"Hi," Claire said, watching her mother fiercely.

"I just thought I'd ask you how detention was, see if it was really as terrible as you'd thought," Michelle asked, trying to sound sincere without sounding saccharine sweet.

"It wasn't….Too bad," Claire replied, a slight smile gracing her face for a split second.

"Boys?" Michelle asked, smiling genuinely at the identical smile on her daughter's face.

"There were three boys, actually, Mom," Claire replied, rolling her eyes. Michelle wasn't fooled by the eye roll for a second.

"Nice boys?"

Claire considered for a moment. "Two nice boys, one not so nice boy."

"You went for the not-so-nice boy, didn't you?" Michelle asked with a knowing tone.

"I didn't 'go for' anybody," Claire replied, an edge to her voice.

"Don't be silly Claire," Michelle replied with a little laugh. "You're a tease, just like me."

"Please get out," Claire replied a few seconds after Michelle's laugh died away.

Michelle left without another word. She had made a mistake. She'd spent so long making mistakes, really, that when it came to actually trying she wasn't sure if she could stop.

**Jerry was surprised to hear his son whistling when he and his mother walked through the door that evening. **

"Hey Dad," Brian said cheerfully, the continuing to whistle something that sounded suspiciously like 'The Bridge Over the River Kwai' as he bounded up the stairs to his room.

Diane greeted him with a grin in the living room. "He was like that when he got into the car," Diane said, with a slight shrug. "Then we had a talk about his grades." Jerry tensed up immediately. Diane placed a soothing hand on his arm, and gave him a warm smile. "I said I don't really care about how well he does in shop class."

"Yeah, I never liked shop class either," Jerry replied, visibly relaxing.

Diane rolled her eyes and sighed at him. "That's because that was one of the only classes you didn't have with me."

"True," he replied with a grin. He gave her a soft kiss on the lips. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"All right," Diane said. She'd done her part. With one short car ride she'd taken a giant step to making things right with her son and her husband, but now it was Jerry's turn to make sure their son was all right with himself.

"Hey Brian," Jerry said as he entered his son's room. It was filled with posters, one of the solar system, one of the periodic table, another with basic calculus equations.

"Hi Dad," Brian said, looking up from whatever it was he was working on at his desk. He was still smiling.

"What're you working on?"

"Oh, uh, it's just this homework for English class that's due, uh…" He looked up quickly at the calendar above his desk (constellations). "Two weeks from Monday, but I just figured 'cause I had the time I'd get it done, you know, so when I have more homework all of a sudden closer to the due date it'll be done."

"Makes sense," Jerry said, smiling at Brian's rambling. He knew Diane found it irritating, occasionally, when Brian rambled because she was a 'Get-to-the-point' sort of person, but Jerry found it endearing. "So, what are you so happy about? Other than your mother having a talk with you?"

"Detention was just…It was okay, it was good, you know? Like, I made a few friends." He paused. "Well, not really a few, four, actually, seeing as how a few is only three…"

"Friends in detention are the best kind," Jerry said, nodding and grinning again.

"Yeah," Brian replied, "Yeah they are."

Jerry was going to ask about the gun but Brian had gone back to whistling, and he figured that, for the time being, it was pretty much resolved. "See ya," Jerry said.

"Bye," Brian replied, giving him one last grin and turning back to his homework.

**Dorothy had never seen Bender look so happy before. **

"Hello John," she said as he sailed into the kitchen.

"Hey Ma," John said, grabbing and apple and turning to face her.

"Detention was as good as usual then?"

"Ten times better," John said, his smile widening.

"Don't tell me Mr. Vernon has finally died," Dorothy said with a mock gasp.

"Now excuse me, Mrs. Dorothy Bender. How could you say such a thing?"

Dorothy laughed. "Well, Mr. Vernon is changing his ways, so might it be the people in detention?"

"They're a wholesome lot, no matter what the authorities say," Bender agreed.

"I didn't think you made friends, John. You never used to get along with other children in the sandbox," Dorothy teased.

"But they all loved me anyways," John replied.

"Maybe that's what _you_ think…" Dorothy raised her eyebrows at him.

"No, don't worry mother dearest – they all love me anyways." And with that, he leaned over, gave her a kiss on the cheek, a small salute, and he was out the door once again.


End file.
